More Than Dust
by highland laurel
Summary: When Mingo finds himself alone and terribly ill from typhoid a group of German settlers save his life.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1 

The sound of conversations washed over Mingo as he sat silently with his hands cradling his mug of ale. Before him Daniel was inventing a tale about the largest bear in the Yadkin Valley and how he trailed it and lost it when it climbed a tall tree and disappeared into the fog. 

Chota had just come through a season of sickness that had claimed three children, two women and two men. They had died from typhoid. The two women had bought candy from a trader that passed on the edge of the town at the beginning of the Ripe Corn Moon. Their two husbands and three children died with them. Fortunately for the community their lodges were on the downstream side of Chota and not close to any others. The trader did not come in contact with their neighbors. 

Mingo had returned home four days ago from a long hunt and found his village in mourning. As Mingo sat grieving for their loss his mind drifted to Emilie Steuben. His admiration for her increased as he pondered the horrible disease and its effects upon its victims. 

The September thunderstorm rumbled and growled its way southeast. Daniel's voice was silenced by one last violent explosion. The large room shook with the reverberations. All conversation ceased as the men waited for the booming to end. 

As he sat listening to the echoes fade away Mingo's mind remembered the days of sickness. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It was mid July when Mingo found the tattered coat near the newly dug grave. A crude cross tilted over the mound. He bent and picked up the coat, searching for a name or other identification. There was none. Sighing, Mingo laid the garment over the grave and passed silently onward. Within three miles he found another grave. A small trader's wagon stood nearby, the gaunt horses standing with heads down. All the nearby grass was cropped off. A back wheel was wedged between two rocks. Mingo quickly released the horses and removed their harnesses. They immediately lay down and rolled in relief. 

The horses moved off slowly, cropping grass as they went. Mingo allowed them to go where they wanted. Together they walked to the nearby stream and drank deeply, then continued to crop the summer grass.

Slowly Mingo became aware of the heavy odor. Instantly he knew. Only a hundred yards into the densest part of the forest he found the body. There was little left, indicating that the man had been dead for several days. Flies buzzed thickly. Mingo went back to the wagon, found the shovel, and dug a new grave beside the other. He wrapped the body in a blanket and pulled it into the ditch, then quickly filled the hole. 

Carefully he searched through the wagon's contents for identification. Finally, in the bottom of a small trunk he found the Bible. Three names were listed near each other, the birth dates only a few years apart. Three brothers. Mingo carved their last name into a piece of firewood and placed it carefully between the two graves. 

After only another mile he stopped for the night beside a swift little stream. He caught a half-dozen fish, spitted them and ate them all. He rolled into his blanket and tried to sleep but thoughts of the three brothers and their ruined dreams preyed on his mind. The stars were growing pale when he finally slept. 

The summer forest was teeming with life and Mingo spent nearly a week enjoying the solitude. Freedom was precious to him and he relished his time alone. The thought of dying as the three men had died never concerned him. To lie in the arms of Mother Earth and become one with the forest seemed a very welcome death. Every night he laid thinking about his own mortality, his mother, his brother, and others whom he had lost. 

One very early morning eight days after he'd found the bodies he awoke to altered perceptions. The soft morning light seemed to waver as though it was midday. The calls of the birds were loud, the songs almost painful. The gentle morning breeze was very cold. Mingo sat up slowly, careful not to jar his pounding head. His chest hurt as he breathed. He remained completely still for several minutes, thinking. Then he understood. Whatever had killed the brothers had now infected him. 

An overwhelming desire to lie in his own bed prompted him to rise. He swayed on his feet, his vision blurry. He wrapped his arms around his chilled body and struck out in a straight line for Chota. Head down, rifle drooping, he walked for several hours until he stumbled and lay unmoving near a small pond in an open meadow. He closed his eyes and willingly drifted into the darkness.

When he awoke he was lying on a bed inside a cabin. Slowly his eyes focused on the plump woman standing in the open doorway. She seemed to grow small, then expand to gigantic dimensions as he watched. A spasm of pain coursed through his abdomen and he drew in his breath sharply. She turned at the sound and leaned over the bed. Her cool hand felt welcome against his burning forehead.

"You speak English, neh?" she asked in a heavily accented voice.

Mingo understood the question but could not seem to form an answer. He closed his eyes and fell back into the darkness. His body felt heavy, leaden. He could hear the sleet ticking against the glass panes of his window. Beside him sat the nurse, forcing spoonfuls of liquid down his flaming red throat. He strained to make his voice heard. If only he could shout loudly enough his mother would hear and find him.

He felt the cup pressed against his lips. He tried to turn his head but the cup followed. In defeat he allowed some liquid to slip past his teeth. He could feel it as it trickled out the side of his mouth and down his neck. He shivered at the coolness. An age passed, then the smooth spoon was pressing against his lips. He swallowed the warm broth, following the warmth down into the sunlit pool.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The glass pony shimmered in shades of blue and purple. Calvin was trying to ride him, but pieces kept breaking away. Joey skated nearby on the Thames, singing a nonsense rhyme that Mingo could not remember. From the nearby forest charged a buck deer, its antlers lowered and bloody. Dogs hounded the animal's steps until it turned at bay, tossing the dogs into the air where they floated into the soft fluffy clouds.

A strong hand gripped Mingo's shoulder and shook him. His father's voice demanded, demanded. A puff of cold air shot under the bearskin at his lodge door, causing a violent shiver as he rose to place more firewood on the fire. He clenched his jaws to control the shaking. Against his will he moaned softly. Spasm after spasm twisted through his abdomen, causing him to double in pain. Nausea swept over him in uncontrollable waves and he emptied his stomach over the side of the bed. He heard the exclamation of alarm but could do nothing except heave dryly, his tortured body weakly hanging over the bed's edge. 

He awoke to darkness and candlelight. In a rocking chair nearby sat a woman with grey hair. She rocked and sang softly to herself as she knitted a long pair of trousers. Mingo watched her as she shuttled along the floor, the long ropes attached to the chair's rockers undulating along the floor as they tightened. As he looked the floor flooded with water, and in the water swam multitudes of snakes. He tried to shout an alarm but no sound came from his open mouth. His heart pounded in fear as he watched the snakes strike the woman's defenseless legs. She gave no indication that she felt the fangs. 

She saw his wide eyes, rose and waded through the water to his side. She placed a spoon against his lips. "Open!" she demanded. Mingo obeyed and felt a trickle of cool water. He giggled and his mother poured another spoonful down his throat. The August weather was uncomfortably hot. Mingo threw the light sheet off his wracked body and lay naked in the bed. The philosophy professor called his name and he responded with a question of his own. His classmates snickered into their hands and he stiffened his spine proudly. 

Strains of "The Messiah" swelled in the large lecture hall as he sang the baritone solo to an audience of indifferent pigeons. Suddenly the pigeons rose together and flew through the church, the sound of their wings booming in the vaulted edifice. 

Bright sunlight caused him to squint as he gazed around the spotless little cabin. Beside him he heard the runners swish against the plank floor. A soft hand felt of his flaming forehead. There was the sound of water splashing into a pan, then the wonderful sensation of coolness washing over his burning body. His mother stood watching from the shore as Taramingo pulled him through the clear water of the little river. He reached for her, nearly knocking the pan from the old woman's hands. Muttering in a broken English she continued to bathe his struggling body. The rosy spots were visible through the black hair that covered his chest and disappeared into his upper abdomen. His thick black hair was drenched with sweat. He could feel it being pulled from beneath his head and tied beside his right ear. He struck out in panic against the Shawnee warrior whose hand gripped his hair and held a scalping knife above his head. A rush of cool air caused a fit of shivering as Mingo begged Joey to close the window against the London fog. 

Days and nights blended seamlessly together. Mingo alternated between a leaden heaviness and a weightlessness that was faintly pleasant. He babbled in Cherokee, English, and Latin. Hoarsely he tried to sing. As the third week began Emilie found him standing on the bed fighting an unseen foe. She struggled with him for several minutes before his strength drained away and he collapsed shivering and moaning on the bed. 

As the fourth week began Mingo opened his sunken eyes and saw clearly for the first time in twenty-two days. A late summer storm was pouring rain against the log walls at his head. He lay listening to the rushing sound, his thin sore body supported by soft feathers. The fragrance of stewing chicken wafted from the little fireplace. Into his line of sight stepped the woman with abundant grey hair braided and fixed to the back of her head. She tasted the stew, then glanced in his direction. He saw her eyebrows rise as she walked to his side.

"Good afternoon, neh?"

Mingo's weak voice replied politely, "Good afternoon, Madam. You have cared for me the entire time I've been ill, haven't you?"

She nodded and smiled. "You was very sick. Typhoid. I had typhoid long ago, in Philadelphia. Just after we came to America from Holstein. It is very hard, neh?"

Mingo closed his eyes as he smiled and nodded. He felt the blanket being drawn warmly over the sheet as he fell into a deep, healing sleep. The cool rain-soaked air soothed his body and he slept until the dawn. 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Emilie Steuben was a widow. She was the matriarch of the settlement that included three of her grown sons. Hans, the youngest, lived with her in the snug little middle cabin. Jan, his wife and three children lived in the cabin to the north. Emil and his family lived in the south cabin. The Steubens were farming nearly a hundred acres of fertile land. They had a herd of milk cows and Emilie was skilled at the making of cheese. Once a year the family planned to travel to Salem to sell the excess cheese and farm produce.

As Mingo regained his strength he enjoyed the company of the large, happy family. Jan's wife Helga played a small accordion, and every Saturday evening the family gathered in the yard for an hour of singing and dancing. Mingo lay inside on the bed, too weak to participate but able to enjoy the songs as the music drifted through the open cabin door. Every day Emilie pushed cup after cup of broth into Mingo's emaciated body. She made a rich egg nog and made it available to him as he wished. 

Knowing solid food would overwhelm his system, Emilie diligently guarded his frail body. Several times a day she sat by his bed, spooning custard into his mouth. The sweet pudding was very satisfying and Mingo began to sit propped on pillows for portions of the day. The German immigrant and Cherokee man talked together as she worked around the cabin. On the fourth day Hans helped Mingo outside for the first time in nearly a month. He sat in a table chair for more than an hour, absorbing the hot August sunshine. 

When he could finally tolerate solid food Emilie roasted a calf in a large pit dug outside. The fragrance of roasting beef tortured Mingo all day as he lay propped in bed. He still slept part of the day, but in his waking hours he was bored and tried to find something to occupy his mind. Finally he asked Emilie if there were any books in the family. Emilie stared at him for several seconds, then called her granddaughter Marthe to her side. She whispered to the little girl, who scooted out the door and returned only moments later with a Bible in her small hands. Boldly she climbed onto the chair her grandmother placed beside Mingo's bed.

"My grandmother says I should teach you German."

Mingo's eyebrows rose in surprise, then he smiled in delight. He looked into the little girl's light blue eyes and nodded. "Begin with Genesis then, Marthe. Show me how to pronounce the words." The hours flew as the little German girl and the recovering Cherokee man assumed the roles of teacher and pupil.

In another week Mingo felt able to begin his journey back to Chota. He had been gone nearly eight weeks and knew that his family would be concerned. Emilie baked several small loaves of bread for him to take and added a half-wheel of cheese. She sent him on his way with a large breakfast of eggs, roast beef, and cold milk. As Mingo stepped through the door for the last time, he turned and hugged Emilie tightly.

"I would have died beside the pond if not for you. I know it. I owe you my life. If ever you need my help, for anything, at anytime, send one of your sons to Chota or Boonesborough. I am your friend for life, Emilie. There aren't enough words to express my gratitude for what you've done. I know I must have been very, very hard to tend."

Her blue eyes sparkled in fun as she smiled into his eyes. "You was strong sometimes. But I am strong sometimes too."

"I don't remember any of the boys. Only you. Didn't you have any help with me?"

"Nein, I wouldn't let my boys or girls help! They have not had the typhoid. Only me."

Mingo nodded his understanding. He reached for her and hugged her again. He could feel the strong return pressure. Overcome with affection he bent and kissed her cheek. She returned the kiss, then stepped away from his arms. 

He turned and walked three steps, stopped and walked back. She could see a question in his dark eyes. She smiled as she intuitively guessed his puzzlement.

"You are wondering why I helped a wild Indian?"

Mingo's eyes widened, then he nodded silently.

"Does not the Bible say that God has many children? Then I think that you are one of his children too, maybe. And when Elsie found you by the pond you did not frighten her. I thought then that you must not die."

"I spoke to Elsie? I don't remember that at all. What did I say?"

" 'Stay away from me. Get you mother, please.' What sick man says 'stay away' and 'please' if he not be a good man? And no matter what land he is from, neh?"

Mingo silently reached for Emilie's work-worn hand. He brought it to his lips, and soft as the wings of a moth kissed it. He smiled into her blue eyes. She raised her left hand and smoothed his long black hair. Then she stepped back into her little cabin. 

Turning slowly, Mingo stepped into the yard and walked west. He could see the cows in the little meadow, Karl sitting in the shade tending them. Jan and Hans were cutting hay in the distance. Marthe swung the egg basket as she skipped from the henhouse. Helga and Elsie weeded the garden while Ulla boiled the family's sheets. Her baby Johanna slept in a basket nearby. Emil and his son Eric waved from the barn roof where they were mending the shingles. Mingo stood several minutes watching them, then humming a favorite polka set out for his home.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

As the thunder's echoes died away in the distance Daniel continued his tale. "And that, Mingo, is how I came to understand the ways o' bears. O'course, some days I forget and have to learn 'em all over again." Daniel's open face reflected the humor that flashed from his sparkling green eyes. Mingo slowly became aware that Daniel expected a response. He cleared his throat and tried.

"All good hunters have to learn the ways of game, Daniel."

Daniel's eyebrows lowered in a frown. "You haven't really been listenin' have you?"

Mingo flushed slightly. "I apologize. You are correct. I have been rude. Perhaps I had better just be on my way." Mingo began to rise but Daniel reached for his arm and pulled.

Daniel's frown deepened. "Mingo, it's still stormin' outside. You don't want to battle wind and hail if you don't have to. Have another ale while you wait."

Mingo shook his head but Daniel rose and soon returned with another brimming mug. In resignation Mingo pushed the sadness back into the farthest reaches of his heart and entertained Daniel with a story about Apollo, Daphne and the creation of the laurel tree. When the tale ended the storm had passed, the pale late afternoon light reaching cool fingers through the rain-washed air. 

"Thank you for the ale, Daniel. I really do need to take my leave." Mingo stood easily and saluted Daniel. Just as Mingo reached for the door it swung inward and a tall, thin man in buckskins entered, his wet clothing marking a trail behind him. "Massacre!" he cried. "Every one of 'em's dead!" Instantly every man in the room tightened. Daniel stood quickly and spoke for the room. 

"Who? Where? When?" The clipped words expressed the anxiety in every heart. Mingo stood silently as every eye in the room stared in his direction. His heart pounded as a quick rush of remembered fear shot through his tall body.

"A day's walk from here, on over towards the Gap. Little settlement o' Germans called Steuben's Corner. Must've been a week or so ago from the looks o' things."

"Steuben's Corner? Never heard of it."

"It's just a small settlement of families, Daniel. Three cabins." Mingo spoke softly, slowly. His face reflected shock and sadness. Daniel saw the expression and frowned.

"You know it?"

"I do."

Mingo's reticence concerned Daniel and he narrowed his eyes. Mingo would not meet his gaze, a sure sign that the other man knew more than he was telling. 

Cincinnatus approached from behind his bar with a steaming mug of hot rum. He held the mug out to Silas Draper, who sat and gratefully swallowed a gulp of the hot alcohol. The other men in the room began to talk together. Mingo opened the door and slipped through into the fading light. Behind him he could hear the agitated voices.

Daniel followed quickly. "Mingo! What do you know about those families?"

Mingo stopped and held his breath. Then he turned and faced his friend.

"I met them last summer. I was hunting." Daniel could see there was much, much more to the meeting but Mingo had decided not to elaborate. He was hiding something. His dark eyes rose to meet Daniel's. The two men held their gaze for several seconds, then Mingo turned and continued into the solitude of the forest. Daniel watched him go, standing in the mud before Cincinnatus' tavern while behind him the voices chattered in excitement as they readied themselves to bury the murdered Germans.

Mingo accompanied the burial party to Steuben's Corner. Carefully he and Daniel looked over the burned cabins and outbuildings, the destroyed garden, the ruined crops. The Shawnee raiding party had been very large. All the livestock had been taken. Sorrowfully Mingo walked the homestead, touching familiar furnishings. The overturned iron wash tub Ulla had used. The egg basket he had last seen in Marthe's little hand. She had been taken, then killed when her cries of fear could not be hushed. The hammer that Emil had used on the barn. Karl's wooden flute. Helga's accordion had been thrown onto the ground, the bellows ripped with a large knife. 

Clenching his jaw tightly, Mingo stepped over the burned threshold of the little center cabin. The stone fireplace was blackened but whole. Closing his eyes Mingo could see Emilie bending over the cooking fire, stirring soup for him. He could hear her humming her favorite song, a hymn by Martin Luther. He slowly sank to his knees and began the Cherokee death song for each of the Steuben family. Many minutes he knelt before the hearth, his deep voice crying in anguish for his friends. Then he silently sat with his memories as the Boonesborough settlers dug the eleven graves for the loving, happy family that was no more.

Late in the afternoon Daniel entered the burned cabin. Mingo had briefly told his story to Daniel as they traveled on their sad journey. More than anyone else Daniel understood Mingo's silence and his need to be alone. "Mingo, we're ready. I thought you'd like to be there too." 

Mingo nodded and got to his feet. As he reached the doorway his eyes fell on a black book partially burned beside the doorway. He leaned over and took the Bible in his hand. Sharp memories flashed into his mind. Marthe beside him on the chair, her little voice correcting his pronunciation, her grandmother beaming from the hearth. Swallowing hard, Mingo gripped the Bible and accompanied Daniel to the graveyard. The hardy frontiersmen stood silently, their heads bowed, their faces a study in grief. Each of them had memories of other graves, other deaths. Cincinnatus stood apart, his Bible in his hand. Mingo stepped to his side and whispered in his ear. The older man nodded, then stepped aside.

Mingo stood at the head of the graves. There were three rows of three graves, then two more, clustered together on the side of the hill nearest the burned wheat. The settlers all bowed their heads as Mingo's strong voice rang out, the German words pouring from his tightening throat. After five minutes he stopped reading and began to sing. Emilie's favorite hymn rang out in the still Kentucky evening. The other men joined in on the chorus, and the loving family from over the mountains went to their rest with the words of their own countryman drifting through the air. 

Late that night Mingo sat alone, apart from the other men. Death was as familiar as life on the frontier. He accepted that. But it was always hard. He had known some who believed that everything happened for a reason, a purpose. There could be no purpose for the destruction of an entire family. None. They were simply in the line of march, a prize sought and won. 

Then another thought entered his mind. Was it possible that they were settled in the little valley to save him? Had they come all the way from Germany in Emilie's generation, then come to Kentucky just for him? And once that purpose was accomplished was their mission on earth finished? Philosophical arguments swirled in his mind until he was exhausted from the fight. He lay back on the cool Kentucky earth and was instantly asleep.

In the morning he and the settlers parted company. Daniel gripped his shoulder in comfort and affection, then joined the others and walked to the northwest. Alone as he wished to be, Mingo walked deep into the Kentucky forest to continue his life. In his heart lived Emilie and every one of those dear to her. They would always live there, a part of him, until the end of his life. And when he died, those that remembered him would continue on into many future generations. Perhaps, Mingo thought, that was eternal life. The thought comforted him as he walked. The familiar Kentucky forest closed around him and blocked his view of the graves on the little hill behind him. 


End file.
